Fyre Fly: Chapter 44 - Friends New and Old

A week into our journey, an airship approaches our city. It isn’t the first, and it certainly won’t be the last, but this one is familiar. Its balloon is bright red.

“Captain Marlowe,” I greet as his ship docks and the man strides down the plank with a wide grin. “Glad to see you again. I must say, you had me wondering what to expect with that last cryptic message of yours.”

He clasps my hand with a strong, warm grasp. “Cryptic? I promised you a tracker and I’ve got one!” He grins, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Well, in a manner of speaking.”

“Do I want to know?” I ask as he turns to shake Mirzayael’s hand next.

He rests his hands on his belt, turning to look back to his ship. “Why don’t you see for yourself?”

His crew is already done securing the ship and has started to unload a welcome supply of fresh produce to trade. He probably expects to get a good deal for the supplies, and he’d be right. But the individual who steps off the ship is clearly the primary motivation for his visit.

Mirzayael briefly tenses beside me, and I also experience a moment of alarm. Red skin, black hair, orange horns, and golden eyes: a cambion. Zetaru is the only one I’ve actually met to date, as her species seems more rare, or at least more reclusive, than most. But it takes just a second to realize this person is not Yua Tin’s Champion. Even if the differences in appearances hadn’t clued me in, their nervous yet excited expression is about as far from Zetaru as you could get.

The cambion has a sort of bookish look to them, with round spectacles on their nose and a bouquet of writing implements protruding from of their breast-pocket. They shield their eyes as they look up at the city in awe. “Amazing! What style of architecture is that?”

“Lord Mirzayael, Lord Fyre,” Captain Marlowe says, reluctantly drawing their attention away from the city. “This is Attiru. They’re a map-maker, and apparently have a bit of experience with the Drifting Isles.”

They don’t particularly look like the dangerous adventurer type, but I know better than to judge a book by its cover. “I heard there was a tracker of some sort?”

They blink at me for a moment, as if caught off guard, then step forward to clasp my hand with both of theirs and dip their head in a respectful bow.

“Yes, my lord.” Their voice is heavily accented, but they seem fluent in Dunmorish nevertheless. They pay respects to Mirzayael as well before their gaze returns to me. “However, I’ve yet to determine if that is a resource I’m willing to offer you.”

Mirzayael bristles. “If you came all this way to extort us for wealth, you’ve misjudged the situation.”

Attiru frowns, but Captain Marlowe jumps in first. “I assure you that’s not the case. Come, we’ve traveled a long way to get here. Perhaps this conversation can take place after some food and rest?”

That seems wise, at least to diffuse the small friction that’s arisen between Mirzayael and Attiru, if nothing else.

But the cambion surprises me. “That’s not necessary—I’m well rested from the flight here. And actually, I came here to talk. If it was money I was after I could have sent an invoice. But I wanted to get to know the people I’d be distributing my map to, first. Captain Marlowe has spoken highly of you.”

Purely out of good will, I’m sure, and not also to help broker this deal. I catch his eye, and he gives me a good-natured wink.

I can’t help but like the man, even if he’s in this at least partially out of his own self-interest.

“Would you like a tour?” I offer. “We could speak along the way.”

Attiru’s eyes light up. “That would be wonderful. This is such a fascinating city! I think I can guess why you’re interested in the Drifting Isles.”

We begin walking up the gently sloping main street that leads to higher tiers of the city.

“We’d like to settle there,” I admit as we walk. “Our city operates on arcana, so being able to draw from a large, natural well would benefit us greatly.”

“That’s a nice idea,” Attiru says, head craning back to peer at every house and street we pass. “But it sounds dangerous. You realize there are wild animals out there?”

“We can handle a few beasts,” Mirzayael says shortly.

Attiru looks her up and down. “I’m sure you could.”

“It sounds as though you visited it and returned in one piece,” I remark.

“By no small miracle!” Attiru laughs. “But I had help from some friends who are far more apt at combat than myself. And I have a feeling you two would do just fine yourselves. But can you say the same for the rest of your residents? What happens when a flock of gryphons attacks the town?”

“Irrelevant,” Mirzayael says, clearly not enjoying having the security of our city being questioned. “We would have to deal with wild animals no matter where we land.”

Attiru shrugs. “True enough.”

But it’s a fair concern, and I’d rather not wait to be attacked. “We were already planning to scout the Ruins before we land,” I tell the mapmaker. “We could also use the opportunity to remove the largest threats.”

“You make it sound easy,” Attiru chuckles, but I can feel that Mirzayael approves of this plan. I get the feeling she’s been itching for more action for a while now.

We take Attiru on a leisurely lap around the city, speaking with townsfolk and stopping to admire squares in the process of having plants installed. Attiru doesn’t seem daunted at all by being thrown into conversations with strangers, and is even awed and delighted to meet Ollie. (His speech stone certainly helps smooth out new introductions and convince visitors that he is probably unlikely to eat them.)

“If you don’t mind my asking,” I say as we wind up a staircase of the palace, “why do you want to get to know us? Is there a reason you’re being judicious about who you give this information to?”

“Of course.” Attiru runs a hand up the stone banister, gaze still plastered to every new mural and statue we pass. “Most of the world’s Ruins have been plundered over the years. The Drifting Ruins less so, due to accessibility. If my map becomes widespread, then the resulting destruction—and almost certainly death—will be on my hands.”

I can see their perspective. Even if they wouldn’t be responsible for what was done with the tool they created, it would be hard not to feel guilty for the harm that resulted from its use.

“You’ve already shared it with some people,” Mirzayael points out.

“The wind mage conclave, yes,” Attiru agrees. “I have a good relationship with them, and I trust them to use the knowledge wisely.”

“And what does ‘wisely’ look like to you?” I wonder. Mirzayael had been about to respond in a similar and far more abrasive manner.

We come to the top of the landing, facing a wide, open pavilion designed for Ollie’s use. Attiru stares out over the city, their eyes following a harpy as it glides through the air.

“I’m a cartographer by trade, but I have a background in history,” they explain. “I like to think we stand to learn a lot from our own past. It would be a shame to see these Ruins picked apart in search of anything valuable—especially now that I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

Mirzayael is entirely unmoved. “You can’t be that worried about the destruction of something that’s already been destroyed.”

Attiru gives Mirzayael a curious look. “Just because something has fallen into disrepair doesn’t mean it can’t be refurbished.” Their gaze goes past her and up toward the spires of the palace. “Don’t you think?”

Unease stirs in my gut. Do they know what this city is? Who we are? I suppose it would be foolish to think Jorria wouldn’t spread the word even after we’d left. I had just hoped we’d be in a more secure position before our origin became known.

“Perhaps we should take this conversation somewhere more private,” Mirzayael says, (literally) reading my mind.

Attiru agreeably bows their head. “I think that would be wise.”

They don’t appear to be making a threat, though their reference was clearly intended to let us know that they know who we are. The question is: why tell us, and what do they want?

I inform Marlowe we’re heading to the dining hall, and he waves us on, deep in conversation with some cloudwood traders currently staying in our city. The three of us settle into the meal circle at the head of the room as Mirzayael asks a nearby guard to inform the kitchen of our arrival.

She turns back to Attiru once we’re alone. “So you know what we are.”

Attiru gives a smiling grimace. “That certainly confirms my theory.”

Mirzayael narrows her eyes, and I put a placating hand on her leg.

“No one else has seemed to have figured it out,” I remark. “How did you put it together?”

“I’ve seen drawings of the city. Tiered. Five towers, red roof tiles.” They look up at the ceiling and the fiery mosaic that decorates the stone. “The harpy motif is also a bit of a giveaway. There was a statue of Fyreneth in one of the halls we passed.” They look back at us with a chuckle. “Though I’m not surprised no one else has made the leap. Most people consider her castle a myth.”

This is the most information I’ve managed to gather about the rest of the world’s perspective on us to date. I should have sought out a historian before now rather than relying on books.

“We’ve been keeping our origin a secret,” I tell Attiru, despite Mirzayael’s dismay. “We weren’t sure if the rest of the world would act as Jorria did.”

“You met the Jorrians, did you?”

“That’s one way to put it.”

Attiru gives a derisive chuckle. “They’re certainly a zealous lot. They almost make home look enticing. But no, if you’re worried about the rest of the world sharing Jorria’s view of Fyreneth, then you can rest easy; most don’t believe the story, and those who do likely wouldn’t care. Everyone’s got their own problems to worry about.”

I slump against the stone backrest, a weight lifted from my shoulders. We don’t have to hide. We’re free to be ourselves.

Mirzayael is far less relieved. “One account is not enough to believe. You could be attempting to trick us into revealing ourselves so we become a target.”

Attiru splays their hands with a shrug. “Then don’t believe me. I don’t particularly care. Although I must admit I am a bit curious how you lifted an entire city off the ground.”

I glance at Mirzayael. “I think we can trust them.”

She mentally grumbles. “You’re probably right, as much as I don’t like it.”

A kitchen helper appears just then, and we all get up to assist with passing the dishes down.

Perhaps it’s a risk. But if they were interested in betraying us, they wouldn’t have let us know their suspicions in the first place.

So, as we eat, I tell them about the Fortress and all the spell circles Fyreneth created within it. I tell them about the cloudstone that keeps us floating, and the mana ore that was used to power the city. I don’t tell them about the Dungeon Core, but even without it, the bones of how we took off—and why we eventually need to land—are there.

Attiru is an enthusiastic listener, and clearly forgot about their food the moment I started talking, as they take a hasty bite when I finish my explanation.

“Amazing,” they say. “So the Drifting Isles is the solution you came to for solving the mana problem? Not the easiest solution, but certainly the most creative.”

“There’s other reasons we’d like to make it our home,” I explain, “including its mobility.”

Attiru nods thoughtfully, finally taking a few bites of their salad. “Why do you want to remain mobile?” They look between the two of us.

“To learn everything I can,” I say wistfully. “To meet different people and go to different places and absorb all there is to know. To see the world.”

They raise an eyebrow at Mirzayael next.

“Freedom,” she says simply. She glances between us, as we’re both clearly expecting more. “And to see the world.”

Attiru snorts, and I chuckle.

“That’s a lot coming from her.” I give Mirzayael a playful wink. “Trust me.”

“I do,” Attiru says. Then they shake their head with a laugh. “Terrible habit of mine, being so trusting. It’s gotten me in quite a bit of trouble. But I’d like to help.” They smile. “Another dangerous vice.”

“Thank you,” I say. “We’d greatly appreciate it.”

“Do you have this map with you?” Mirzayael asks. I elbow her. “And yes we’re very grateful.”

Attiru’s eyes dance between us with a knowing smile. “Not exactly.” They tap their temple. “But I can make you a copy in about an hour.”

“That would be amazing,” I say. “If there’s any way we can repay you, just say the word.”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind repayment with a payment,” they tease. “I do still have to feed myself.”

“You will be compensated for your labor,” Mirzayael assures them.

“What an enticing offer,” they remark.

Their subtle needling is really getting under Mirzayael’s skin, but she manages to hold back a retort.

“There’s just one request I’d like to ask of you before I get to work,” Attiru says, sobering.

“Of course,” I say. “Anything you want.”

“Not anything,” Mirzayael adds.

Attiru pointedly ignores this. “Once you land, try to preserve the Ruins, would you? You don’t seem like the lot to go around destroying historical sites, but as you start getting more and more visitors, some will surely seize the opportunity to do some impromptu excavating.”

That hadn’t even occurred to me, but now that they pointed it out, that outcome does seem likely.

“We can set something up,” I say, glancing questioningly at Mirzayael. “A guard rotation?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Over some old buildings?”

“This city is old buildings,” I point out.

She huffs. “Fine. Once we land, we’ll likely want to secure the entire area anyway. In the long term, perhaps an independent team could be assembled to oversee the Ruins specifically.”

I brighten. “An archeological team! Oh, I’m sure we’ll find plenty willing to help with that.”

Attiru chuckles. “Myself included, if you wouldn’t mind. I’m glad to see such enthusiasm. I believe I am making the right choice, entrusting you with this compass.” Then their face scrunches up in a grimace. “That is, I’d love to be involved in archeological efforts once the area is safe. There are quite a lot of dangerous animals in those clouds.”

Mirzayael’s faintly bored gaze snaps back to Attiru. “What did you encounter? Anything you can tell us would be extremely useful.”

Attiru seems surprised by their abrupt engagement, but recovers quickly. “Of course. I’d rather not have you all go through the same ordeal we did. The first thing you need to watch out for are amphipteres…”

Attiru spends the rest of the afternoon with us and the other councilors, relaying everything they can recall about the Drifting Isles and what lived there. They also give us the location of the tracker spell that they installed—largely so we won’t accidentally destroy it and make their map useless.

“I went through quite a lot to get it up there,” they say. “I’d be very appreciative if you didn’t make all that effort for naught.”

When they sit down to draw out the sister spell circle that will link to the one on the Drifting Isles, Dizzi joins us, bouncing on her heels as she leans over Attiru’s shoulder—careful not to jostle them, yet unleashing a stream of questions.

“Some of this does require concentration,” they tell her at one point. “If you could reduce your interrogation to one question per minute…”

“Sorry!” Dizzi says, giving them a bit of space. “It’s just exciting to watch a master work. This technique is fascinating. And there’s even a couple runes I don’t even recognize!”

Attiru spares a glance up at her. “A couple?”

“Three,” she admits, pointing them out while taking care not to touch the page. She may be excitable, but even she seems to respect the work of a spell in progress.

“Those are the most obscure ones I use in this design,” they say, sounding fairly impressed. “You’re well read. If you ever want to study mapwork spells, come find me.”

Dizzi preens at the compliment; that will buoy her for weeks, I’m sure.

By sundown, we have a rough map of the Drifting Isles, a list of what creatures to expect and where, and a magical compass that’s pointing us to the Ruins. It’s far more than I ever could have hoped for. For the first time since we took flight, I feel prepared for what is to come.

“Thank you for the hospitality,” Attiru says as they pack up their things. “It was a pleasure to see this city.”

“You’re not staying?” I ask. “We wouldn’t turn down your expertise navigating the Isles.”

Attiru laughs, holding up their hands. “Please don’t ask me to stay, or I might say yes. I’ve had quite enough of that Ruin for one year. Though perhaps I will visit in the next one.”

“That would be lovely,” I say.

“Yes!” Dizzi adds. “Please come back. And teach me more about that tracker spell… if I haven’t reverse-engineered it by then.”

“I suspect you will,” Attiru says with a chuckle. As they look between us, their expression softens. “Good luck, and be careful. I’d rather not see our world lose this city a second time.”

“You won’t,” Mirzayael says. Her tone is filled with conviction.

And you know? I have faith we’ll pull this off, too.

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Author's Note: Those who have read Glass Kanin will be familiar with Attiru (and their adventure to the Drifting Isles) already. This chapter takes place about a month after the events of Glass Kanin Book 3.